


Time Passes as Time Does

by Dalishious



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, merribela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalishious/pseuds/Dalishious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela moves in with Merrill, and the domesticity flourishes.<br/>This is femslash with a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Passes as Time Does

**Author's Note:**

> There are not enough Merribela fics actually focused on Merribela, and not, you know, just for the background.

“Isabela,” Merrill begins, “Where do you live?”

They’re at the docks, sitting at the edge of the wharf with their feet dangling over the water, picking small pieces of dirt and rocks up and chucking them into the water. Merrill has a bowl of berries in her lap that the two are casually picking from between throws. It is far too hot a day for Kirkwall. The ocean breeze is a much needed refresher. And with Hawke, Carver, Varric and Anders in the Deep Roads, things are relatively uneventful.

Not that Isabela is complaining. She loves being at the docks, watching the ships come and go. She is daydreaming about being on one of those ships when Merrill’s abrupt question catches her a bit off guard.

“In the Hanged Man, mostly.” Isabela picks another handful of berries and pops them in her mouth. They’re juicy and sweet, and the Rivaini wonders where the elf had even gotten them from.

“So you have a room like Varric’s, then?”

Isabela laughs. “Not many can afford a room like his, Kitten. Think a much smaller scale. With more dirt, less décor.” Besides the beer-stained rug and used mattress, there isn’t a whole lot. The Hanged Man is not exactly known for its accommodations, but rather affordability. Isabela doesn’t mind it much. It’s not like she’s there a whole lot, anyway.

“You could always stay with me,” Merrill offers.

Isabela is about to deflect with a joke, but closes her mouth and truly contemplates it for a second. She looks at the other woman, and sees no sign of jest on her face. Just a friendly smile, lips stained red from the berries without a care. Isabela answers by taking her thumb and wiping said stain away. “I’d be a fool to say no!”

When the sun sets over the water and the two women head off, instead of going their separate ways, Isabela follows Merrill to the Alienage. Merrill chats about how her house can never stay clean, but promises to do a better job with Isabela around. Isabela assures her anything is a step up from the Hanged Man.

The elves walking about watch the pirate as they pass. Merrill waves at everyone, either oblivious to their concerned and confused looks or choosing to ignore it. Isabela gave up caring about people staring at her long ago, as long as they knew better than to try more than just that.

Despite Merrill’s fretting, her house is quaint and well kept. Merrill digs up an old sleeping bag and the two roll it out next to her bed. Isabela jokes that they could always share it. Merrill giggles and blushes, but says nothing.

This is how it starts.

Time passes as time does. They eventually get a second bed for Isabela, and it is quite possibly the best bed she’s had in a long time. She gets her own dresser too, from an elf more than happy to make one for the coin. Isabela no longer gets glances from the Alienage elves, but rather smiles of welcome. “Fight off a few nasty humans looking to cause trouble, and suddenly you’re a local hero,” she brags to Hawke upon the Fereldan’s return. But all joking aside, Isabela deeply enjoys the sense of community. Kind of like a ship, but with no captain, and everyone’s caught in the same storm, trying to steer through the waves of inequality.

It doesn’t take long for the two women to form a routine. They cook on alternate nights. Clean when things need to be cleaned. Isabela helps Merrill keep her mirror in as good a shape as the thing can be. She even picks up a few elven words here and there. Swear words, mostly. The amazement never really leaves Isabela, just how much swearing Merrill does when she’s at home. And when Aveline gives Isabela grief and adds _free-loader_ to her list of insults, Merrill is quicker to argue before Isabela can herself.

It’s all very… domestic. The thought amuses Isabela, when it dawns on her. She never saw herself for domesticity, much. Her ex-husband would certainly agree. But with Merrill, things are good. Things are peaceful. Things are nice. Sometimes she wonders if it’s a peace she deserves. But then she tells those thoughts to bite her ass.

Time passes as time does. They make mistakes. They come back and catch each other. Merrill sometimes wakes with tears on her face. Isabela wipes them away with her thumb like wiping away berry stains. Isabela can’t help but double check the locks on the door every night. Merrill sets up wards for extra peace of mind.

The flirt. A lot. And hold hands. A lot. And one time when Isabela stumbles home a little too drunk and with a persistent man on her trail, Merrill embraces the Rivaini in a hug and makes a loud scene about how much she loves her wife. The man leaves. The next morning, Isabela wonders if it really happened or not. Neither of them mention it.

Merrill is good. Merrill is peaceful. Merrill is nice.

Time passes as time does. Isabela knows Merrill is taking the death of her clan hard. She surprises the elf with her best attempt at matzah ball soup on the table, a dish she knows Merrill loves with a passion. When Merrill sees it, Isabela is gifted with the first smile in a while.

They eat without an exchange of words. It has become unnecessary at this point. While sitting cross-legged on the floor, doing their dishes with a bucket of water and well-used cloths, Isabela breaks out into the only elven song she knows, one often heard echoing in the Alienage. Merrill adds in on the second verse, and the two sing away while scrubbing their plates. Their voices have trouble harmonizing, but they keep it up.

The last plate is stacked to dry, and when the two rise off the floor, Merrill turns to Isabela. “Thank you,” is all she says.

“For what?”

“Isabela…”

Merrill drops the cloth on the edge of their water bucket. She takes a step forward, closing the space between them, and slowly raises her heels off the ground. Isabela finds herself leaning forward. Merrill waits there, with their faces close enough to feel each other’s breath. And when Isabela doesn’t break away, the two press their lips together with such honest joy, Isabela is almost pushed back by Merrill’s enthusiasm. They break, look at each other, and go back in again. Isabela lowers her hands to the elf’s thighs, and with a tiny jump, Merrill is in her arms, with hers resting around the Rivaini’s shoulders, weaving fingers through the thick head of hair.

Isabela carries her to the bed. It’s nothing new for either them, and yet it’s the best she can recall in a long time. Maybe ever. Not just because the elf tastes like everything good in the world, or because Merrill knows all the right places. Maybe it’s the cuddling after. Merrill in her arms and she in Merrill’s. Maybe it’s because she feel’s safe. And _loved_. A good love. A love she wants to keep.

“Does this mean we’re girlfriends, now?” Merrill asks.

“…Merrill,” Isabela answers, “I think we’ve been for some time.”

Time passes as time does. And friends become girlfriends become wives.


End file.
